


The Conference Room Where it Happens

by the_wordbutler



Series: Motion Practice [38]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hamilton - Freeform, Legal Drama, Multi, egregious lyrics-quoting, motion practice universe, trash of the thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wordbutler/pseuds/the_wordbutler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, Bucky will reflect on Thursday's staff meeting and think, "Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now."</p>
<p>In the meantime, Fury wants all their heads on a platter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Conference Room Where it Happens

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs somewhere about a year and a half after Sua Sponte, because obviously, _Hamilton_ was not yet a national phenomenon in September 2014. Also, if you're unfamiliar with _Hamilton_ , you will be confused.
> 
> Also, please direct all complaints to saranoh, because she made me do it. Seriously. I had no control. It is entirely Sara's fault. (She also proofed it for me, meaning that all other errors are my own. But also hers. Because, again: her fault.)

Three weeks after Steve and his unironic patriotism introduces the office to _Hamilton_ (as in the hip-hop musical about the life and times of Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton, because apparently, these are the things his husband discovers on the internet), Bucky sends the following text message to the other attorneys at the office:

_Free drinks to the person who drops the most A. Ham. lyrics into Thursday's staff meeting._

In a completely expected turn of events, Tony replies first. _referee?_

_Steve. He disapproves._

In the other room, Steve groans audibly. Bucky smirks into their tax returns. _I don’t disapprove_ , his husband retorts a few seconds later. _Bucky disqualified us from the competition. Something about how we'd "wipe the floor with those optimistic bastards."_

Bucky snorts. _Same difference._

Another text chimes through almost immediately, this time from Natasha. _Who's hosting the going-away party when Fury fires us for derailing his staff meeting? My calendar's pretty packed._

_He won't know_ , Phil replies almost immediately. _He still hasn't listened._

_STILL????_ Clint jumps in, still texting like a teenager despite marrying the original text message grammarian. _hes your bestie how have you not forced it on him yet?????_

_never again use that word in reference to fury_ , Tony writes. _makes me throw up in my mouth._

_Please pretend I've used the eyeroll emoticon in this message_ , Phil shoots back instantly. _And no, he still refuses. Something about being ruined by "Cats."_

_Those felines are both mysterious and mighty_ , Thor replies. Probably seriously, given the tone of the message.

_way more important than the cat thing: emoticon? are you eighty?_

Bucky snorts at Tony's text, but he full-on chokes at Clint's immediate retort: _you should see what he can do when i keep him bedridden like a senior citizen_

Bucky barely switches back to the Turbo Tax window when his phone chimes again. _YOU HAVE A CHILD_ , Tony insists, and Bucky imagines the words in bold and underlined. _DO YOU KISS HIM WITH THAT FILTHY MOUTH?_

_You kiss our children with yours_ , Bruce points out a second later.

The text stream falls mercifully silent, but not before Steve drops something in the kitchen. His laughter almost drowns out Dot's concerned interrogation, but not quite.

Bucky grins as he thumbs open a reply window. _Now that I'm scarred for life by this conversation: game on?_

_Bring it_ , Maria replies—and adds three martini emojis for emphasis.

 

==

 

The second Nick Fury plops down in his seat at the Thursday morning staff meeting, he knows one of his people's about to drum up a whole heap of trouble. Call it instinct or just the energy humming through the room, but either way: the air feels charged, like the calm before a thunderstorm, and that never bodes well. He flicks his eye over at Phil, who quirks an eyebrow and shrugs. Next to him, Hill sips her coffee without her expression ever really shifting.

Either they're clueless or complicit, Nick thinks, his teeth grinding together. Great.

Still, he forces himself to lean back in his chair like always. "Let's start with docket reports and head from there," he suggests, and he spends a couple seconds scanning the room for a weak link. Between Phil and Romanoff, Barton fidgets like a twelve-year-old in the principal's office. "Barton?"

He chokes on a bite of bagel. "Me? Why me?"

"Because I like you best," Nick replies, and he smirks when Romanoff snickers. "What's going on in traffic this week?"

Barton wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, a piss-poor attempt to hide the way he glances at Rogers. Discreet as a marching band, Rogers smiles and nods. "Well, uh, for starters," Barton says, rubbing the side of his neck, "Bishop's in front of Smithe one last time. You know, to finish out her diversion. She's kinda antsy about it, but I keep telling her, 'Just you wait.'"

Over at the far end of the table, Stark chokes on his coffee. The second Bruce pats his back obligingly, Nick narrows his eye.

"Otherwise," Barton continues, "it's mostly the same as always. Had a DUI trial scheduled, but we're postponing. Guess I gotta wait for it." Hill coughs, and Nick twists to scowl at her. "And Darcy's up against me on that reckless driving case, and let me tell you, she's pretty, uh, scrappy and hungry about it."

"Sure, but you're non-stop," Phil breaks in conversationally. This time when Stark sputters, Romanoff slides him the stack of napkins.

Barton flushes. "I don't know," he replies, shrugging. "Might be hard to stay alive, against her."

Across the table, Rogers wiggles his whole left hand against his legal pad. Barton smirks and tosses a glance back at Nick. "But yeah," he says, leaning back in his seat. "That's everything."

"At least you're not helping the state act _in loco parentis_ for a hundred-plus children," Banner comments, his attention mostly on a case file. A couple seats away, Barnes groans. "And because they're in foster care, they're wondering what comes next."

Rogers scratches the side of his face with two fingers, and Banner's head bobs slightly. Nick frowns at him. "You want to do your docket update?" he asks.

Banner shrugs. "I can."

"Go right ahead."

Nick tries to keep up with the child welfare update—with _all_ the updates, really—but every couple seconds, the conversation turns a little off-kilter. Stilted, like everybody forgot how to assemble a sentence in normal, everyday English. Thor pauses a half-dozen times, purposely mispronouncing the word "anarchy" and muttering something about bayonets, Hill talks about narrative questioning and watching a case burn, and Romanoff compares a defendant to a hurricane. Worse, every time the conversation breaks, Rogers wipes his mouth with three fingers or taps four on the table, a sure sign he's counting _something_.

Just as Romanoff finishes her docket update, Stark glances up from his phone. "Sorry, what did I miss?" he asks, and at least half the table groans quietly. Nick grits his teeth. "Anyway, since I'm probably next, I'll start by saying that the new appeals attorney with the public defense office? Awful. Keeps looking at me like I'm stupid. I'm not stupid." Bruce huffs a tiny laugh, and Tony flashes him a half-second grin. "We argued over the phone the other day—he resents driving down to this part of the state for arguments, and I kept telling him, 'No matter how hard you try to avoid coming down here, you'll be back. We're the greatest county in the world.'"

Barton, Romanoff, Banner, and Barnes all glance over at Rogers. He rolls his lips together before shrugging lightly.

Nick frowns. "Do you have a point?"

"Besides that the new attorney's an asshole? Not really, no." Banner and Pepper both snort, but he raises his hands. "Otherwise, I'm a little behind schedule. Need to write like I'm running out of time, but you know me: I'm never satisfied."

A half-dozen people swivel toward Rogers like musicians waiting on the conductor's first cue. Very carefully (but still without actually hiding a damn thing), Rogers wiggles every finger of his right hand and one of his left. Stark beams and flops back in his chair. "You ready for your turn, Coulson? Tough act to follow, I know, but—"

"Are you sure you don't need to take a break?" Phil interrupts, and Stark releases a strangled squeak instead of finishing his sentence. "To start," Phil continues casually, "I finally resolved that sentencing dispute with Laufeyson. Turns out, the world was wide enough for both our positions—which felt a little like the world turned upside down, but I'm used to that." Barnes quickly hides his grin behind his hand, but Stark just rolls his eyes. "Right now, I'm dedicating every day to the Sciutto case. In fact, I'm just behind enough that I'm looking for a mind at work. Maybe an intern, maybe not."

A couple people toss glances in Rogers's direction, and he flashes another six fingers.

Phil smiles slightly. "And," he says, clearly wrapping up his presentation, "as your right-hand man—" 

"Okay, the hell is going on here?" Nick demands, cutting into all the grumbling that springs up around his table. "I don't know what you people are quoting, but something started to smell funny about a third of the way into Barton's docket report, and now—"

" _Hamilton_ ," Rogers answers. He keeps his shoulders slumped, but Nick catches the little spark in the corner of his eye. "Buck and I—"

"But mostly him," Barnes stresses.

"—got the rest of the office into it. Thought it might be fun to play around a little, since we all know the show by heart."

"Most of us, you mean," Barton mutters. Phil and Hill both hide their smirks behind their coffee mugs.

Nick sweeps his gaze across the room for a moment. "You're telling me that nine of the best attorneys I know derailed my staff meeting just to quote musical lyrics at one another?" he finally demands, and all of them nod in Broadway-perfect unison. "Do I at least get to find out who won?"

His so-called "right-hand man" smirks and crosses his arms. "Don't worry, sir," he says confidently. "I blew them all away."


End file.
